


Bitter Dregs

by kinklock



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s03e12 Plato's Stepchildren, M/M, Mind Meld, Misunderstandings, POV Spock, since hearing Maiden Wine I have not known peace, unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinklock/pseuds/kinklock
Summary: When they had first met, Jim had known not to touch his hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. So. Where to begin. This is some Plato's Stepchildren fix-it fic, though it covers a lot more ground than just that episode, and the events of plato's get summarized. All the section titles come from the lyrics of Maiden Wine, because it haunts me to this day. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who experienced the bitter dregs doc, I've never doc'd like that in my life. Jules & Harry, it's been real. Soli & Bruna, thanks for editing.
> 
> apologies to star trek experts for alla this, but I thought I was gonna die if I didn't write this fic, so jot that down. Writing in Spock's POV took 8 years off my life. Enjoy.

_i. in their velvet prime_

 

Logic dictates that to start one must begin at the beginning, which was this: the loss of a former competent and acceptable captain, and the gain of something entirely different.

 

The first meeting, which Spock had not known would bear much significance, was a distant, unclear memory. The only unforgettable detail was a hand that formed the _ta’al_ —with concentrated effort, its fingers not used to separating between middle and ‘ring’ finger—rather than reaching for his own. Respectful, and perhaps well-researched. These were the positive characteristics he attributed to Captain Kirk at a first brush, though he learned more soon enough.

 

Observations were straightforward as Kirk was, at least on the surface, an open and straightforward man. Well-natured, diligent, friendly with his crew. This included reaching out, touching shoulders, learning names, welcoming the confidence of the officers, from Ensign to Commander. In difficult circumstances, a dynamic problem-solver, forward thinker, and gut-feeler. All of this Kirk did with grace, and Spock was relieved by it. Loyalty was a respected Vulcan quality, and he was duty-bound to follow orders from his captain. It was preferable if he could trust that the captain would issue orders that led to a final agreeable result.

 

Even if Spock did not always understand said orders—similar to Kirk’s bizarre chess strategies—or agree with them at the time of their delivery. Captain Kirk’s penchant for putting himself into direct danger, for example, was the most illogical aspect of any of his command decisions. These were the orders that Spock found himself in conflict with on frequent occasion. He found Kirk’s impulses in that direction exceedingly discomforting, likely because it was not rational for the captain of the ship to view himself as more disposable than another crewmember.

 

It was six months, two weeks, three days and thirty-two chess matches into their mission when Spock had first broken order by beaming himself down after a long-silent landing party. Following unfortunate events on a class Q planet which did not bear mentioning, the new regulation in place stipulated that landing parties be divided into smaller units, sent down to planet surface in timed intervals. After the first party, consisting of only Captain Kirk and an ensign, had not been heard from since their initial arrival, Spock beamed down to the surface alone, and earlier than his unit’s scheduled departure.

 

Twenty paces from the coordinates where Captain Kirk and Ensign Philips had been sent down, Spock found a communicator dropped into the red sand. At forty paces, behind an outcropping of violet rock, the edge of a black boot. A body dressed in command gold.

 

It was Philips. This was easily determined, after Spock had dropped to one knee on the ground without first assessing its composition and potential risks. It was also easy to determine that Philips was unconscious, not dead, and that the fine purple particulate clinging to his uniform was the likely cause of his present state. Nearby, concealed at first from view, were three purple spheres along the wall of rock. It appeared to be some kind of plant or fungus, which blended in with its surroundings. Two of them were punctured, and Spock suspected that at least one had released its spores, which had then come into contact with Philips.

 

Keeping his distance from them himself, Spock contacted the Enterprise, and requested Philips be returned without him and decontaminated on arrival. He would remain and search for Captain Kirk. When Scotty asked if additional crewmembers should be sent down, Spock replied in the negative, though it was perhaps unwise. A terse "Energize" later, and Spock was alone with nothing in sight beside the rock formation, in which there was an opening that appeared to lead into a cave. Spock stepped into its entrance without a second thought.

 

His choice to enter turned out to be the correct one. Within, Spock soon heard the echo of Kirk’s voice and followed the sound down a dark, narrow corridor for seven minutes and forty-two seconds, before pausing outside a brightly lit open area. The source of the light soon became apparent as, in its center, Kirk was in the process of negotiating with beings which seemed to be composed purely of multi-coloured light particles. These were presumably the inhabitants of the planet. There had been no previous report of them, but of course, Kirk had found them within minutes of his arrival. Knowing Kirk’s usual tactics, Spock supposed he had been attempting to seduce one of the light beams to endear himself to it, or constructing elaborate lies to trick his captors into releasing him. Regardless, he seemed to be making great progress with their first interaction with life on this planet. Spock waited out of sight, in case his presence would detract from Kirk’s accomplishments so far.

 

Spock reconsidered this approach only when he saw the faint purple dust along Kirk’s neck and shoulder. He had not at first noticed, but it was now clear Kirk was suffering from its effects. Perspiration glistened on his brow, and his body wavered even as he remained standing. All the same, his voice was gentle as he declared the intentions of their ship, and the federation. Not for the first time, Spock experienced the relief of having a worthy vessel in which to place his loyalty. After joining Starfleet to seek experiences he could not access via the VSA, he had struggled in recent years to find reason in continuing where he was alien, an outsider. He remained largely because he was as alien on Vulcan as he was anywhere else, a half of something else, no matter where he was assigned.

 

But with Kirk, he was for the first time within the fold. If he ever experienced doubt in his decision to join Starfleet, it was in these moments where the choice became imminently rational. _I would serve under him_ , Spock thought, _and I do_.

 

Friend, Kirk sometimes called him. Lieutenant Uhura had also once described Kirk as the closest thing Spock had to a friend. He might have conceded it, though he had never called anyone a friend before.

 

It was perhaps this tentative feeling of friendship that prompted Spock to recklessly reveal himself when, surrounded by the ring of lights, Kirk collapsed. Spock rushed forward at the first sign of his right leg buckling, and caught Kirk around the torso before he hit the floor. In less than a second, an unforgivably vague estimate, Spock had flipped open his communicator.

 

The closest beam of energy approached.

 

“Mr. Scott—” he began, before the communicator dropped from his hand. A beam had come into contact with his knuckles, instantly burning him. If Spock had been in more control of his physical body, able to distance himself from the shock of the pain more readily, he might have commented on the obviousness of a light-emitting being producing a high level of thermal energy. Instead, the communicator slipped from his fingers, melting into the red sand of the cave floor as it was consumed by the creature that had attacked him.

 

It seemed prudent to defer diplomacy for another time. With that decided, Spock lifted Kirk from the ground, and ran. The beings of light did not follow after him down the passageway, which was likely what Kirk would describe as a stroke of luck.

 

He carried Kirk in his arms in what he understood humans referred to as a “bridal” carry. Spock had chosen this approach over the “fireman” carry, as he could ensure that Kirk’s airway was open by tipping his head back over his shoulder. Spock was not certain how formal or regularly employed this tradition was, or how much he overstepped his bounds by doing so. There was no such holding in Vulcan marriage ceremonies.

 

Kirk awoke before Spock could return them to the original beam-down coordinates.

 

“You lost consciousness, Captain.” As if Kirk would not be able to gather this on his own.

 

Kirk groaned, shifting in his hold. When Spock’s arms trembled, it was not from physical weakness.

 

“That explains the headache. I see you’ve taken matters into your own hands.”

 

A play on words, which recognized their potentially compromising position. Perhaps the phrasing was to deflect Kirk’s discomfort with the wedding ceremony carry?

 

“We will be back aboard the Enterprise shortly,” Spock reassured him. The urge to acknowledge their situation welled up, and went unsuppressed. “I will release you once I have returned us to the location at which Ensign Phillips dropped his communicator, if you do not mind, Captain.”

 

“Mind?” A slow smile. “Why would I mind?” Jim’s arms, lethargic but adamant, drifted upwards and wrapped around Spock’s neck. The bare skin of Jim’s wrists rested against the black tunic Spock wore beneath his blue science officer’s shirt. A millimeter, and he would need to focus on shielding himself from Jim’s thoughts.

 

“I do not know—” Spock paused. “Captain.” Strange. For a moment, he had considered using Kirk’s name. It had seemed natural. A familiarity between friends, which Dr. McCoy at least seemed to know when to use and when to abstain from. Perhaps it was the effect of the purple particulate, too near him on Kirk’s clothing, and perhaps it was inappropriate, but _why would I mind?_

 

Spock voiced this consideration. “What humans mind and what they do not mind is not always immediately apparent.”

 

Jim laughed. Not loudly, but a soft exhale, like the logical conclusion of his smile. “You make us sound so fickle! That is because each of us prefers different things, Mr. Spock.” The teasing quality of sarcasm, the implication that Spock knew this well already. “And this human prefers being called Jim, from time to time.”

 

A muscle in Spock’s jaw twitched. An overreaction on his part, but how had Kirk known he had wished to—?

 

When Spock’s shirt slipped down, and with Jim’s hands still clasped behind his neck, in the moment before Spock blocked the input, Spock knew this was not a lie. The request was spoken without guile. The surface of Jim’s thoughts accessed through skin: Warm. Honest. Friend.

 

“Yes,” Spock said. “I can see that. Jim.”

 

The smile he received in response was clearer than spoken praise. Spock did not need to touch Jim’s mind to know it.

 

Jim. He had been asked to use that name, and thus, there was now no shame in thinking of him as such.

 

Jim’s eyes drifted closed. He had been barely lucid for their conversation. And so Jim left while still remaining in his arms, and Spock thought that he might consider this the start. Or at the very least, one of many.

 

The truth of their beginning was that there was none. Spock preferred to exist only in the endlessness of five years. He was First Officer of the Enterprise, loyal to one man. Who he had been before, and who he would be after, was, for now, irrelevant.

 

Out of the cave, he was once more met with red sand, and a warmly colored skyline. Kneeling down, Jim still in his grasp, Spock reached for the communicator.

  


_ii. with smiling words and tender touch_

 

There were worse vices than flirtation.

 

Jim stood close. He also sat close, reached out with two hands, gripped his wrists, arms, shoulders, and even on occasion rubbed across his chest and hip. Jim was, as Dr. McCoy might have described, “a toucher.”  

 

Spock was ashamed to admit it was not immediately clear to him what these actions meant, directed towards his own person.

 

Spock had never observed a captain who would physically reach out to those under his employ at such frequency, and he certainly had never worked with a captain who had behaved that way with him. Stranger still was the objective observation that not only was Spock touched in the same manner Jim would touch other crewmembers, but he was in fact touched more.

 

To be exact, there was 32.129% more touching between Jim and himself versus Jim and the rest of the crew, when physical contact with other crewmembers was tallied over a period of several weeks, averaged, and compared to the touches to Spock’s person. Spock had at first expected that Dr. McCoy would be an outlier who would increase the average, but based on Spock’s observations of their interactions, Dr. McCoy’s inclusion did not skew the data. Still, this was, unfortunately, not an exact science or figure. Spock also observed that touches to his person lasted for longer duration, which had not been a factor considered as part of his tally system.

 

In the end, this exercise did not yield much in the way of results, as Spock was unable to interpret his findings to his own satisfaction. He was fascinated by the frequency at which Jim initiated camaraderie between them, which included invasion of personal space and casual touching, mostly restricted to the area of his upper body.

 

However, it was not only Jim who initiated these moments of contact.

 

A hand on the back of the captain’s chair, to steady himself as he stood nearby, was not so unusual. Neither was a hand on the captain’s armrest for similar reasons, even if Jim happened to be occupying the chair at the time. And a touch to Jim’s forearm, to ensure that he was well—

 

It was harmless through the barrier of clothing. There was less there to sense, less to shield, though Jim showed no signs of wariness towards Spock’s ability to read his mind, even if their skin were to come into contact.

 

Not like the others. Due to the rarity of telepathy of any variety in humans, many felt considerable alarm bordering on contempt toward a touch telepath in their midst. Though they did not say so directly, this much was certain. As if Spock would invade privacy, and as if he ever touched other crewmembers. An ensign, young and clumsy, had once stepped backwards into him, and had jumped away as if burned. Jim’s behaviour was staggeringly different, in contrast.

 

Full understanding dawned under uncomfortable circumstances. Jim applying his seduction techniques to get them out of a “tight spot” typically occurred out of sight from himself. The tactics used—a teasing compliment, a touch to both arms, often in the shoulder area, followed by leaning in to—

 

But Spock didn’t observe past that point, as it marked the end of the (successful) flirtation process. He should have been relieved, if not a little disproving, to have a captain who used such ingenious tactics, which usually yielded positive results and with less violence required.

 

He might have been, if not for the undeniable similarities between the beginning of the seduction, and his behaviour towards Spock.

 

By the time Spock recognized the nature of their interactions, it was too late to stop their pattern. On the heels of this realization came another, perhaps more difficult to face. He touched Jim and allowed himself to be touched because he was experiencing feelings, which may have been beyond the realm of mere friendship. A grave error he had caught too late, and that he enjoyed too much to discontinue, even though he knew he should resist.

 

Despite knowing, Spock did not alter his course. There were many points at which he could have taken pains to distance himself from Jim, and where he chose not to, against his better judgment. Even when placing his trust in Jim as a friend almost resulted in Jim’s death at his own hand on Vulcan, Spock did not sever ties.

 

Despite his shame, when Jim leaned in, Spock did not pull back.

 

Spock restrained himself from anything further. He meditated. He would avoid the mistake he had made when carrying Jim away from the colored lights, and be vigilant in his shielding. He would allow the reception of Jim’s playfulness, and nothing beyond.

 

After all, there were worse vices than flirtation.

  


_iii.  the breathless excitement of night_

 

The next time Spock came close to touching Jim’s mind, he sensed only fear and excitement.

 

This was not only rational of Jim, but also expected given the circumstance, which was lying low in a shallow trench while shooting antiquated mud-slinging devices at a hostile species who most certainly wanted them dead.

 

The transfer of thoughts was over before it had even begun. Jim had, for lack of a better word, wiggled himself forward, which had caused his shirt to ease up his back and abdomen. In an attempt to raise himself over the crest of their meager coverage to sling mud into the water-sensitive orifices of their attackers, Spock had leaned on Jim’s back and shoulders. It was not any more (over clothes) contact than was normal between them in such dire situations. Under circumstances such as these, it was sometimes necessary to climb onto one another, or touch the other to ascertain if they were uninjured. These physical check-ins were, if anything, efficient.

 

And so, this would not have been an issue, except that when Spock retreated back below after the nearest Jugernathion spat (highly corrosive) material in his direction, his bare wrist hit the small of Jim’s exposed back. It was always night on Jugernath, and in the darkness, he had not seen how far up Jim’s uniform had risen. In his surprise, Spock shielded nothing, but pulled away as soon as he was able. The brevity of the touch had not brought him insight into verbalized thoughts, and thus, he understood nothing more of Jim’s mind than its most monosyllabic level. Through the exhilaration, Spock knew Jim felt fear.

 

However, it was not for himself. After a moment of further processing of the information, a conclusion was reached: Jim feared for Spock’s safety.

 

It was on the tip of Spock’s tongue to inform Jim this was illogical—biologically, he was more resilient to harm than a full human—but this would have involved admitting he had read Jim’s thoughts. Accident or not, he had invaded Jim’s privacy. If he were more controlled, this would not have happened.

 

“Mr. Spock,” Jim said. His voice was strained. “While you’re more than welcome to use my back as your prop, that famous Vulcan bone density is getting to be a bit—”

 

Spock rolled off to the side. Though he had drawn his wrist away from the initial touch, he had been paralyzed by the ensuing shame, and had left his full weight resting along the length of Jim’s back.

 

Jim lifted himself up onto his knees, sparing no thought for his own safety as he slung mud into a Jugernathion that was almost upon them. He dropped back down shortly after. His shirt was still high along his back. He did not pull it back down.

 

“I just don’t like you being so close to the top of the cover we have here, that’s all,” Jim said, confirming what Spock had read in his touch. Jim worried for him. “It’s too dangerous for you to just hang out up there.”

 

After his accidental breach of privacy, Spock found this comment both hypocritical, and illogical.

 

“Might I point out, Captain, that you ‘hung out up there’ for six point seven seconds longer than I did?”

 

Surprise shot across Jim’s face, before he had to throw himself back over the lip of their cover to prevent another attack of their assailants. When Jim did not immediately drop back down, Spock grasped him by the arm and pulled, until Jim tumbled on top of him.

 

Spock wondered if he would be reprimanded, but Jim Kirk only laughed.

 

“All right, Spock,” he said, clearly amused. “I understand. Only, promise me then that you’ll risk your life the exact amount I risk mine? I wouldn’t want either of us to be, say, six point seven times more self-sacrificing than the other. It wouldn’t be good for team moral.”

 

“Equality in this is illogical, Jim, given that I am the more expendable crew member.” His voice was hoarse. He suspected it was the air.

 

They were still lying on their sides, the left part of Jim’s torso slung over top of Spock’s abdomen. Jim gripped his shoulder, shaking his own head. “No one is more expendable, don’t say that, Spock. Especially not you, you know I need you. Besides, we’re both senior officers. To me, you’re my equal.”

 

Through the unusual mist, all Spock could see was Jim’s smile, and for a moment, he forgot his earlier transgression.  

 

The following occasion was similarly accidental, though quite different in setting. During usual resting hours, following meditation, Spock had entered the refresher room connected to his quarters to attend to his personal hygiene before sleeping.

 

And in doing so, had walked in on James Kirk, leaning against the counter in front of the sink, a regulation toothbrush jutting from between his lips.

 

“Apologies, Captain,” Spock said, making to leave.

 

This run-in had never occurred before. Normally when one of them was in the shared refresher room, situated between their two quarters, they would engage the locking mechanism for both doors. Spock was usually more attuned to the noises from within the room and knew when not to attempt entry, but due to his meditative state, he had not heard Jim enter. This was a great oversight on his part, though Spock did wonder why Jim had not locked the door to Spock’s room, as was customary.

 

Jim pulled the toothbrush from his mouth and spat into the sink. “No, no, no need to leave. We can brush at the same time, right? Not an issue. That is, assuming you were coming in here to brush your teeth.”

 

There was toothpaste foam on Jim’s top and bottom lip.

 

Spock nodded. Cleaning his teeth had been part of his intention.  

 

Jim waved him over. “Well then, we can share the sink. The other officers have to sometimes pile five around at a time, if I remember correctly.” This was an exaggeration, but Spock did not correct it. “Besides, this is the whole idea. Sharing a refresher room between us is meant to keep us humble. How’s it going to do that if we never share?”

 

“Indeed,” Spock said, with a raised brow. Their sharing of the room was in fact to allow visiting dignitaries staying aboard the vessel the privacy of their own refreshment room, but Spock did not inform Jim of this technicality of which he was no doubt aware. Again. He was, as Dr. McCoy might have said, acting rather tongue-tied.

 

“Do you always change… to meditate?” Jim asked, motioning to his robe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that.”

 

Spock had almost forgotten his state of dress. “Often, yes. You have not seen it because I have never broken regulation by wearing non-uniform clothing outside of personal quarters.”

 

“Quite right. That was foolish of me to comment on, Mr. Spock.” Jim lowered his head in an imitation of shame. When he looked back up again, his eyes were crinkled at the corners. “We both know you’d never break regulation, under any circumstances.”

 

The many times that he had, usually in service of Jim, passed between them unsaid.

 

“Indeed,” Spock repeated with another quirk of his brow, and Jim’s face split into a wide grin.

 

After such a warm welcome, Spock approached the lip of the sink. The drawer holding his cleaning supplies slid out towards him, and Jim slipped the toothbrush back between his lips. Its vibrations began anew, and Jim continued his vigorous scrubbing motions, which were not necessary given the brush’s capabilities, nor did they appear to be dental practitioner recommended.

 

Spock began his own, far less violent, teeth cleaning, which involved holding the implement in the correct areas at the correct angle for the correct durations of time. In the mirror above the sink, Jim’s eyes followed his motions, mouth crooked up at the corners. Though Jim often looked at him this way, it was usually provoked by him providing an estimate that Jim found amusingly too exact.

 

As he was not used to being so scrutinized, Spock dropped his gaze from the mirror and to the left, away from Jim. A mistake, as when he reached out to steady himself against the edge of the sink, his hand made contact with Jim’s.

 

Their eyes met in the mirror. Spock withdrew his hand, but not before he had heard a single, fond word through the touch, as clear as if spoken aloud.

 

_Cute._

 

Spock did not look back up into the mirror.

 

And, by his own diligence, he never again ran into Jim in their shared refresher room, though he suspected that at night, when he went to brush his teeth, Jim always left the door unlocked.  

 

After, it was more difficult to stay away. Two slips on his part were noted mistakes, and yet he courted the possibility of another indiscretion almost daily. Perhaps, more accurately, it was too easy to find himself close to Jim without conscious thought. A hand on the Captain’s chair, resting on the armrest, was not technically a violation of any rule, even if the Captain was currently using it. And placing a hand on the bridge’s railing to support oneself did help to remove stress from the body caused by any long period of standing. If Jim was also leaning over it, on his elbows, it would come across as standoffish to move away.

 

And, when Jim’s hands slid closer, if Spock entertained the idea of fanning his fingers out, a touch that might occur would be still be accidental. He did not, however, fan his fingers out. He respected Jim’s privacy, and he respected his own people’s code. He was in control of himself, and his desires. A wish for serendipity was not the same as acting outside of logic.

 

All the same, the final incident occurred on the bridge. Spock had been bent at the waist observing sensor readings, and though he could not see him, knew when Jim had risen from his chair, and had approached the railing. The beginning of Spock’s name fell from Jim’s lips, which alerted Spock to his approach, but he did not finish forming the sound. Perhaps Jim decided he was not close enough for speech, as he then climbed to the higher level, and came to stand behind Spock’s bent back. He was close enough that if Spock were to move approximately five centimeters, they would come into contact. His estimate would have been more precise, except Jim did not hold still.

 

Over Spock’s shoulder, Jim asked, “Anything, Mr. Spock?”

 

“Negative, Captain,” Spock said, drawing back up to his full height.

 

“Not so negative to me,” Jim said with an easy smile. “Between the two of us, I’d prefer we didn’t find anything strange at the moment.”

 

The corners of his lips lifted, though it was against his better judgement. Jim speaking ‘between the two of them’ could have that effect on him.

 

Jim hummed. He leaned over, resting on the science station, near the same control which Spock’s hand hovered over. Spock held still. Jim did not.

 

After containing the shameful hope for serendipity to provide him with the opportunity once again, Spock did not pull away. Worse than this, he did not shield himself from Jim’s touch. It was wrong of him, but for exactly 1.293 seconds, he let himself see more than in any previous encounter. It was nothing like a full melding of the minds, but was far more than a single word, or the general sense of Jim’s current emotions.  

 

In his mind’s eye, Spock saw himself bent over his station, the long line of his back taut. He felt Jim shift backward in the Captain’s chair, covertly watching, and then, standing, drawn closer. Interest, but stronger. Attraction.

 

Spock had previously understood that Jim felt affection for him as a friend, which did not come as a surprise, and perhaps, a part of himself already knew from Jim’s teasing manner that his interest in Spock could extend to the physical. Being faced with such evidence was still, however, staggering. His heart beat in his side, and to his own embarrassment, his body responded to the imagery as Jim perceived it. Arousal.

 

Two undeniable facts, now linked to each other, were known to him. The first being that Jim was attracted to him, and the second, that Jim had never acted on it. Anything else was conjecture. Spock would prefer not to speculate on Jim’s reasons, or what that they might mean.

 

Jim’s hand still rested atop his. With his restraint returned to him, all Spock sensed was its warmth.

 

At last, Jim withdrew, the pads of his fingers brushing past Spock’s knuckles in their retreat. Conversation over, Jim returned to his chair, ignorant of what had transpired, and how he had left him.

  


_iv. cold morning light_

 

“Why did I have to be assigned to the starship with the youngest captain in the fleet, I ask you?” Lieutenant Figuero, by the sound of it, asked the recreation room at large.

 

Old terran folk music played softly through the room’s speakers, though the lyrics were drowned out by the crewmembers’ chatter, and the near constant sound of laughter.

 

Sensitive hearing did have its downsides. Passing by a room, even with the door closed, often resulted in unintended eavesdropping. Spock began to walk faster.

 

“Joyce reject you again?” spoken by an unknown crewmember, and which was met with resounding laughter, except by Figuero, who groaned.

 

“You know she’s only got eyes for the captain, Figuero. Unlucky break for you, being on the Enterprise.”

 

“Don’t even talk to me about eyes!” In an imitation of what was presumably this Joyce’s voice, _“Captain Kirk’s eyes are hazel.”_

 

More laughter. It was almost as if humans were required to laugh after everything said when in a group setting.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we all know, man. Say, though, I mean, you think he’d ever…?”

 

“Of course not,” the familiar voice of Lieutenant Sulu, thankfully, interjected. “You know the captain would never act inappropriately, especially not with an ensign. That would be taking advantage.”

 

A sombre silence followed. It was easily dispelled a moment later by a young ensign adding, “What happens on shore leave…,” to more ringing laughter.

 

The giggling continued until Spock could hear it no more. He was well aware that the crew might gossip about their senior officers. He was surprised they would do so in front of Sulu, who had been correct in his defense of their captain. Spock noted and respected such loyalty, and felt the assertion was correct, though the words disturbed him long after he had been forced to overhear them.

 

This was in part because Sulu was correct. Jim would never have taken advantage, but there was more to the statement than that. Namely, the implication that Jim desired to. Command was lonely, Spock understood, and in situations where Jim was free of it, he was also freer in his open regard. For women. Or, at least, he had been in the case of Edith Keeler.

 

Spock wondered if Jim would view a relationship with a fellow senior officer as taking advantage. While perhaps frowned upon, it was not the same power imbalance. _To me, you’re my equal,_ Jim had once said. Spock supposed that was answer enough, though it was only one of many questions Spock had since his revelation on the bridge.

 

Was Jim, for instance, aware that the physical intimacy he had initiated between them had moved beyond even what would be acceptable between bonded pairs? Spock wished he could imagine Jim an ignorant, overly affectionate man. Instead, he was a knowledgeable, overly affectionate man. When they had first met, Jim had known not to touch his hand.  

 

He could not understand Jim’s intentions, even having seen his interest first hand. This interest did not seem to extend to Jim following through in any conceivable way. Still, Spock could not believe Jim toyed with him on purpose. It was in Jim’s nature to ask for much, and leave without a second thought. In this way, he was ignorant. The women he had left devastated on various occasions came to mind, though Spock did not fault Jim for these ruses that were required of him. It was one way in which he was creative in his problem-solving, and Jim believed he was as transient in their lives as they were in his.

 

Jim didn’t understand permanence. Even when he had declared himself in love, he had eventually moved on. Commitment in that way was foreign to him. Spock doubted he would understand the need for vows, or permanent bonding. If Jim knew the connotations of his actions, Spock regrettably understood the offer for what it was. Namely, one he could never accept. Spock was certain of only this: Jim could move on, but he could not.  

 

It was this weakness, still at the forefront of his thoughts, that the Platonians preyed upon.

 

Their first set of humiliations were shallow cuts. Treating Jim brutally and without dignity seemed to be worse for himself and Dr. McCoy to witness than it was for Jim to bear. Jim rebounded from his self inflicted harm, but Spock found already he could not forgive them for it.

 

Then, the Platonians had turned their sights on them both.

 

Their torments grew more sophisticated, more personalized, suggesting they had the ability to plumb the depths of their playthings’ minds. They easily discovered Spock’s long buried fear of hurting Jim, pushed to the recesses of his mind since their fight on Vulcan, and toyed with the idea of forcing Spock to use his superior strength on him. In comparison, his following public exposition of emotion was nothing, though Dr. McCoy had protested more at the latter treatment.

 

During their subsequent release, Spock meditated on the subject, though his companions distracted him from reaching any true meditative state. If the Platonians could learn which actions were most disgraceful, most hated, by their playthings, it served to reason that only worse things were to come. Spock suspected what would come next. If they could discover his fear of harming Jim, then finding his fear of the reverse would be child’s play, something they were well familiar with. The “healthy” release of his emotion would soon injure himself, and Jim worst of all. He attempted to bury his turmoil and heightened emotional state, but the Platonians drew it out from him the first chance they had assembled the appropriately sized audience.

 

They had mocked him in a way far more creative than he could have ever imagined. The song was chosen carefully. Even he had not realized that his memory had associated the painful conclusion reached with the folk music playing in the background during the crew’s discussion of Jim’s charms, and restraint.

 

Though the structure of the music relied on metaphor and caution to women, judging by the reactions of Lieutenant Uhura and Nurse Chapel as he sang it to them, it did nothing to obfuscate the truth of the subject matter. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock observed the exact moment when a look of understanding passed over Jim’s face.

 

And so, he announced to three crewmembers, several sadistic aliens, and Jim himself, that he believed Jim to be interested in him, but only for a single, devastating encounter.

 

Dr. McCoy appeared the least surprised of the humans present. Jim, the most. Spock was distracted from the reality of this by what followed after, which was beneath even what he had imagined the Platonians capable. His sympathies and regret for Nurse Chapel, at least, were greater than his own mortification. As she struggled against him, and as he struggled against the outside force controlling him, he felt he had truly lost.

 

_Careful, Mr. Spock. Too much love can be dangerous._

 

At least there, they were in agreement.

  


_v. deeply they’ll swallow_

 

All previous behaviours were stopped, as they should have been when Spock had first identified the interest in Jim and in himself. No more chess or shared meals or idle palms along the back of the captain’s chair. This retreat was bearable, besides the pitying looks from Lieutenant Uhura on the bridge, and Dr. McCoy in passing. If Spock had expected McCoy to tease him as he often did after discovering a newfound weakness, he would have been incorrect. Everyone kept their silence on the subject.

 

If Jim had understood, as Spock suspected he did, it was unclear. If Jim bestowed him with similar looks, Spock wouldn’t have known. His avoidance was successful, and Jim allowed him to maintain the distance, perhaps understanding its necessity. He was not a cruel man.

 

When Spock was assigned a junior science officer to accompany him to the surface of Quirinus V a week later, though Jim had shown great interest, previously, in beaming down to the planet, Spock attributed it to Jim’s compassion. He hoped there would be no beings of light to burn him, or aliens who forced a spaceman to sing.

 

And he was fortunate. Aside from harmless orange blossoms on vibrating stems, which did not seem to be the spore distributing kind, there was little life at all. With automated efficiency, he began taking readings.

 

“Sir, shouldn’t we report?” his assigned science officer asked, surprising him. He had almost forgotten he had been paired with another person, and he had not taken care to learn her name before departure. An unusual, and grave oversight. Her uniform told him, at least, that she was a Lieutenant.

 

“Yes, Lieutenant, we will once we have been more thorough in our assessment of the area’s developments.” In truth, it would have been standard to provide an initial assessment, but Spock found he preferred to delay. He dreaded even scientific discussion with Jim at present, and was thankful for the brief respite he had gained. On an unoccupied planet, there was no risk of running into Jim Kirk.

 

Following this thought, in front of him, Jim materialized.

 

His landing party companion stuttered out a surprised, “Sir!” as Spock’s eyebrows lifted to his fringe.

 

“I changed my mind. I wanted to see the surface for myself.” A pause, and Spock, still weak in his moment of surprise, allowed Jim to catch his eye. “After all, I’m infamous for my flightiness, aren’t I?”

 

“Uh,” the Lieutenant said, looking between them both.

 

“Anyway, I thought I’d hear your report from down here,” Jim said with an easy smile. Spock didn’t see it for long. His chin dipped down, his head inclined towards the Lieutenant, who took the hint and provided the survey results.

 

“Excellent, Lieutenant.” Genuine, but distracted. “Why don’t you beam back up to the ship, and I’ll stay a moment down here with our Mr. Spock.”

 

Jim was orchestrating a moment alone between them, off ship. Spock controlled his initial physiological reaction to this knowledge, while the Lieutenant accepted this offered escape with relief clear in her speech pattern as she requested Mr. Scott return her aboard the Enterprise.

 

They were soon alone, and as far as they knew, the only humanoids on the entire planet. Spock clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the inevitable.

 

But Jim did not demand conversation. He was admiring the foliage. Brazenly, he touched the petals with a bare hand. Delicate, a fingertip along the edge.

 

“How do you think it would fare if I plucked it?” Jim at last spoke. “Put it in some water? See if we could get it to grow.”

 

Spock drew near to observe the flower between Jim’s fingers. It was safe to do so, if both plant and conversation were harmless. “I am not certain. Lieutenant Sulu would be a better choice for such inquiries.”

 

“It’s strange of you to not be certain of something, Mr. Spock.”

 

Spock did not disagree. Jim bit his lip. “Ah, well. Maybe it prefers remaining on its own planet, with everything it knows. Better for it than being up there with all us humans.”

 

Spock blinked. The discussion had veered into unexpected territory. “Captain, it is a flower.”

 

A hand on his arm startled him, and he was turned before he could resist the pull. Spock kept his chin tucked into his chest, his eyes downcast, and focussed on the bright orange, vibrating fauna.

 

“Spock, I’m being heavy-handed.” Hushed voice, filled with emotion, but which emotion Spock couldn’t be certain. He was uncertain of much, as of late. “I think you know what I’m trying to say. This isn’t the time to tease me. Don’t pretend you don’t understand.”

 

Caught out, Spock was tricked into looking up, and if Jim had orchestrated this meeting to communicate his regret and rejection, Spock didn’t understand why he showed all the standard signs of fear.

 

“When you sang—” Spock cringed, pulling into himself, but Jim followed after him—“when you sang, did they put those words into your mouth?”

 

A shake of his shoulders. “Spock?”  

 

“In a sense,” Spock managed. “As I did not wish to sing them.” Vulcans believed in truth, but to work alongside Jim, Spock had learned to speak in half-truths. A half in all things.

 

“But the sentiments expressed, where did those originate?” Jim asked, his words stilted. “Who were they really trying to mock? You, or me?”

 

The latter had never occurred to Spock. Had Jim been embarrassed by his display of emotion, or by his declaration of Jim’s transient interest in his first officer?

 

Unable to tell a direct lie, he answered.

 

“The meaning originated from me, and I am certain the humiliation was also intended for me.” His eyes shuttered closed. Couldn’t Jim have left it alone, if he had inferred it already?

 

The touch on his shoulder gentled him. Jim’s thumb rubbed across the top of his collarbone.

 

“In what way did it humiliate you?” When he didn’t respond, “Spock?”

 

Spock shook his head once. He couldn’t answer.

 

“If they were your words, am I to understand that you are worried about the women aboard our ship, then, Mr. Spock?” Another shake of Spock’s shoulders when he looked away. “Take care young ladies and value your wine, isn’t that what you said? Pray tell, who is the seducer you would warn them away from?”

 

He had made Jim angry by not outright saying the true meaning. “You misunderstand me.”

 

“Was not that what you said?” Jim’s voice had now lowered, perhaps in an attempt to not lose his temper. “And why sound so pained if it was only your concern for others? As if—” and here, Jim paused, as if needing to work himself up to it, through it—“as if you spoke from personal experience.”

 

Spock’s fingers twitched towards the communicator on his belt. Being beamed away from this encounter would have been most ideal. Still, Jim persisted.

 

“Because, I have a hunch—and I know you’re not sanguine about hunches, Mr. Spock, but humor me—I have a hunch that you were referring to me.”

 

Now, it was Spock who felt anger get the better of him. It was a hateful feeling, the most hateful of all, but Jim’s interrogation of him grew to be too much to bear. He pushed off the hand that had clamped down on his shoulder like a vice.

 

“And if I was?” The volume of his voice was raised, the same way it used to when he was young and unchecked, responding to the taunts of children, and only proving that he was just as human as they thought he was after all. “Am I wrong in my caution? Have you not left many broken-hearted?”

 

Jim’s displaced hand hovered in between them, before dropping to his side. Spock couldn’t look at his face. He had said too much. At once, Spock reined in his own violent feelings, and sought to rectify any offence he had given.

 

“Jim, I do not think you do so purposefully or with malicious intent. But you—”

 

“Offer so little, and ask for so much?” Jim finished.

 

Spock noted that, at least, the anger in his tone was gone. In its place was his usual gentleness. From fury to pity.

 

Jim took a step forward. It seemed as if the only sound on the entire planet was the soft impact his foot made with the ground beneath it.

 

“Then, you have noticed I’ve been offering.”

 

Spock looked anywhere but at him.

 

“I’ve heard you, Spock, and I want you to listen to me now.” Another two steps towards him, and Spock remained where he was. Jim’s hand stretched out towards him, this time settling lightly on his forearm, which was crossed over his chest. Spock stared down at the fingers, barely touching the blue of his sleeve.

 

“Someone once asked me for advice in love,” Jim started, “and I said that when you’re not certain of the other person’s feelings, you’re gentle. You go slow. Sometimes, nothing ever comes of it, but you never rush it, you never push the other person. And maybe they’ll never be interested in you like that, or return that interest, but that’s all right, too. Because finding yourself in love with someone is always worth it. It’s rewarding in its own way.”

 

“Jim.” He found he was unable to say more. Jim’s hand was still on his arm, so close to his bare wrist that Jim’s fingers covered the gold embellishments signifying his rank.

 

Those fingers tapped twice against his wrist, and his gaze was forced upwards. _Captain Kirk’s eyes are hazel._

 

“Spock, if I let myself show even an ounce of how much I felt, it was because I thought you would not understand, or reciprocate. But clearly, I didn’t show enough.”

 

Between them, Jim held out two fingers, extended.

 

After some time had passed, Jim’s weight shifted minutely, first from the left foot, and then to the right. “Spock? Am I doing this right?”

 

Spock had intended to return the gesture, to press his own fingertips against the offered ones, which was respectful, and showed knowledge of how intimacy was shared in his culture.

 

Instead, Spock bent forward from the waist, until his lips connected with the corner of Jim’s mouth. He felt Jim’s surprise as it happened, a quick inhale of shocked breath. Jim recovered quickly. Turning his own head, Jim better aligned them. The two fingers that had been held out towards him now tilted Spock’s face, and soon became a palm cupping the side of Spock’s jaw.

 

It started with simple feelings, merely one-dimensional impressions: relief, excitement, and pride. Pride in Spock choosing him.  

 

This was closely followed by words. First, single words alone, and then, strung together: _Cute. Sweet. Want him. Feel wanted. Never thought he could want this. Does he want this? Am I going about this the right way?_

 

The increase in clarity of Jim’s thoughts was proportional to Spock’s guilt. He straightened his back, their lips no longer in contact. Jim watched him retreat, unsure and hesitant.

 

When Spock was able to speak, his voice came out hoarse. “I must correct you, Jim, as in fact, you have shown too much. I feel I must confess that I have at times not been vigilant while we were in physical contact.”

 

“You mean you read my thoughts?” Jim guessed, with surprising ease. From expression alone, it was clear he was unoffended, and unfazed by this invasion. “But then, if you’d seen into my mind, how could you think that I would swiftly be gone? How could you think that of me at all?”

 

“I did not see so deeply into your mind. I am sorry, Jim. My thoughts on that matter were a reflection of my own fears, and not my esteem for you.” He paused, as Jim’s choice of wording occurred to him. “Did you memorize the song in its entirety?”

 

Jim, for the first time in their planetside conversation, gifted Spock with a grin. “When you hear a song like that, Mr. Spock, you remember it.”

 

Spock felt his facial expression shift into something that might have borne a resemblance to a smile. “Indeed.”

 

Jim hummed. Jim was about to tease him again. “And now that we’ve established its meaning, you must allow me to set the record straight. I’m not leaving with anyone’s treasure, in cold morning light, or otherwise. And no bitter dregs, I hope. None whatsoever.”

 

Spock prevented the vasodilation of the blood vessels in his face, though not at its source, as the physiological response was caused by his overwhelming feeling of embarrassment. A treasure had been, perhaps, a grand description.

 

“To set your worries behind us, would the equivalent metaphor be us sharing our fine vintages?”

 

Spock’s embarrassment increased—the folk song metaphor template had not been his choice—and thus was distracted when Jim reached for his hand and drew it towards his face.

 

Once he understood Jim’s intention, he stiffened.

 

“This is how you do it, right?” Jim asked, nonplussed, lifting Spock’s hand to his cheek. “You said you hadn’t seen deeper.”

 

“I was attempting to explain that through my own carelessness, I had invaded your privacy. I was not seeking an invitation.”

 

“Whether you sought it or not, I’m inviting you,” Jim said, and leaned forward to kiss his lips. Again. While touching his hand, which was pressed along the side of Jim’s face, his fingers inching towards the meld points.

 

“Jim, you must be certain.”

 

“I am.” He still held Spock’s hand captive by the wrist. “I know what I’m agreeing to. I consent. Do you?”

 

“Yes.” Strained. Though Spock himself was reluctant, his fingers shifted into the correct position of their own accord.

 

“Spock,” Jim said, “you’re shaking.”

 

If Spock had possessed the wherewithal to say so, he might have confessed that he was still somewhat afraid of what he might find within Jim Kirk’s mind, and what Jim would see in his. Not leaving in the morning was somewhat different from bonding for life.

 

Jim’s hand stroked over the top of Spock’s where it rested on his face. Jim smiled at him, encouraging. “This is the part where you’re meant to say something like ‘my mind’—”

 

“To your mind,” Spock continued. A breath. Centering himself. Focusing his mind. Gathering his memories. No misunderstandings between them. “My thoughts to your thoughts.”  

 

First: the image that had already once been shared between them, now shared anew. Spock peering down at the science station, Jim’s eyes on his back. All of his back.  

 

_Who do I have to thank for not making that thing height-adjustable?_

 

_Jim._

 

Jim’s laughter was warm, even in his mind.

 

_This makes me seem much worse than I really am! I do try to restrain my thoughts, you know, but you are always… there._

 

 _High praise, Captain,_ Spock thought.

 

More soft laughter, before the memory reversed on itself. They returned to Jim’s hand covering his at the science station, revealing that it was Spock who had been unrestrained. He had seen into Jim’s mind, and then had reacted to it. His past shame came into focus.

 

In an instant, Jim was there to put a stop to it. _Don’t be ashamed. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Spock. We’re all human—or people, rather—in the end. And I touched you, it was my fault, I was too much. Inappropriate on the bridge, I don’t know what I was thinking._

 

Spock’s embarrassment was eased away. There was no room for it with Jim present. Jim’s acceptance filled him, and pushed all negative feelings out. Soon, he was in a teasing mood again.

 

_Inappropriate, indeed. Your interest was quite… clear._

 

_Hey, now, as I keep saying, I wasn’t that bad. You make it sound so sordid! It’s not like I was… aroused on the bridge, or anything like that._

 

 _I was,_ Spock admitted. This was followed by a stretch of silence, unlike any Spock had experienced in another’s mind before.

 

_Jim? You have stopped thinking. I did not believe that was possible. This explains much about humans and their behavior._

 

 _Sorry, I_ — _You caught me off guard! Spock, you, you can’t just say something like that_ —

 

Spock’s control over the link slipped, and a sequence of images bled through, brief like flashes, and this time not previously shared between them. His own face as he sang the folk song, head adorned with leaves, eyes agonized; the two of them together in the turbolift with Jim knocked into his side by the movement, his eyelids closing, and Jim admiring the blue from lashline to brow; his hair curling beneath the edge of a hat, the tips of his ears hidden beneath; his bare chest with streaks of green, and Jim focussing on the dark hairs, and not the bars behind them.

 

Then, one memory that held for longer: his parents in the ship’s medical bay, fingers pressed together, and Jim intrigued by it. Wanting it.

 

_Would he ever want that? If his father, a Vulcan of no human descent, could be with a human like that, then it must be possible for him to... perhaps, one day…_

 

The recollection ground to a halt.

 

_Now who isn’t thinking?_

 

It took some time before Spock was able to articulate a clear sentence, though the final result was not articulate by any means.

 

_You thought of being bonded. To me._

 

_Who else, silly?_

 

_Jim, that is not undergone, or offered, lightly._

 

_Just like the mind meld! And yet, here we are._

 

_It is a more permanent union than a meld, and more permanent than what humans practice._

 

_It was just a thought, Spock, looking towards the future. It doesn’t have to be right now._

 

_Jim, you are aware of what it means to mate with a Vulcan._

 

_Am I?_

 

Another memory floated up to the forefront of Jim’s mind, and by extension, his as well. Jim’s aching back pressed into the hot sand, and Spock over top of him, senseless and without recognition. Spock’s thigh between Jim’s legs, and Spock’s hips against his abdomen. Grinding.

 

Spock gasped as he broke their link. For a disorienting moment, it was as if they were reliving his pon farr on Vulcan; Jim on his back beneath him, his face bracketed between Spock’s arms, and both of them hard, achingly hard, pressed together from chest to toe. Only, there were orange blossoms on moving stems above them, and Jim was kissing up his neck, and his arms were sliding down Spock’s back. All of his back.

 

A squeeze, and a pull, and Spock was rocked down as Jim rocked up. Jim’s lips moved across his face, but it was wrong—too similar to that moment in time, when he had almost hurt him. Spock rolled off, and pulled Jim with him.

 

“Want me on top?” Jim murmured, adapting easily to the change. “That’s fine by me.”

 

Jim kissed his mouth, his cheek, his chin, all while his hips continued their earlier motion, Jim as always leading them forward towards a common goal. When his hand was drawn away from Jim’s shoulder, and back towards Jim’s cheek, Spock followed Jim’s lead there as well.

 

“Spock, meld us, please. Meld us again, I want to feel—”

 

_You._

 

Images faster than before passed across his mind’s eye, but not memories now. Spock seated in the captain’s bedroom, a chessboard on the table, and Jim on the ground, kneeling between his splayed thighs. A fantasy. Jim’s eyes watching him, waiting for his reaction, as if Spock would stop him, as he placed a hand at Spock’s waistband. A blink of an eye, and Spock was clutching the armrests of the chair as Jim took him out, and swallowed him down.

 

In another place where flower stems vibrated, Spock cried out as Jim ground down. His hips, which against his own volition had been shifting in small circles in response to Jim’s rutting, at last bucked up, and up. Another choked off sound, and he could feel Jim feeling him through the link, urging each other on, pushing each other forward, till they were shaking together, chasing the finality of the feeling.

 

Somewhere, a communicator chirped. Jim was still huffing in his ear, plastered along his front, and the reality of engaging in sexual activity with their clothing on had not yet caught up with him.

 

The communicator, it turned out, was Jim’s, as he pulled it from his belt, and flipped it open. All while still lying on Spock.  

 

Sounding almost inebriated, Jim opened with, “Hello?”

 

“What in God’s name are you two doing down there? The Lieutenant sent down with Spock has no idea!”

 

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim said, though he did not appear to be sorry at all. “We’ve been—”

 

“Don’t tell me! I don’t even want to know. Just—get back up here.”

 

Jim covered the mouthpiece. “Well, we have our orders. Shall I ask them to beam us up?”

 

Spock hoped no one in the transporter room would pay much attention to their state of dress, though he was thankful for their dark regulation pants. Regardless, they were still in a compromising position.

 

“Should we not first stand up, Jim?”

 

“Oh, yes, of course.” Jim rolled off to his side, and offered Spock a hand as he rose. When they had righted themselves, Jim did not release his hand.

 

The hazel eyes of infamous repute were searching his face, but Jim did not speak his concern.

 

“I trust you enjoyed your participation in this routine investigation, Captain?” Spock prompted, conscious of the communicator in Jim’s other hand.

 

“Oh, very,” Jim said. “I hope to make this particular participation quite routine, in fact.” With a hand covering the mouthpiece once more, his voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper. “You’re welcome to drink from my keg any time, Mr. Spock.”

 

It seemed he would not be free of that colorful metaphor any time soon, though he found he now did not quite mind. Spock inclined his head.

 

“Very generous of you, Captain.”

 

With Jim’s hand still in his grasp, Spock reached for the communicator.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Jim made bitter dregs a fun joke so we can all rest now 
> 
>  
> 
> I've never done a disclaimer before but I want to fit in so here we go: I don't own Star Trek (if I did, it would be gay), and i have not profited financially, or emotionally.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Bitter Dregs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498938) by [11jane11](https://archiveofourown.org/users/11jane11/pseuds/11jane11)




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